by M. Leighton
I know it’s coming. Trying to resist him would be as silly and futile as trying to resist the rising of the sun or the rotation of the earth. And, truthfully, I don’t really want to resist. Not really. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. He makes me feel on a level that I’ve never felt before. Maybe it’s his secrecy. Or maybe it’s the air of danger that surrounds him. Or maybe it’s this sense that I’ve not met the real Jasper yet. I’ve been getting this feeling that he’s wounded so deeply that he doesn’t let people in anymore. If he ever did.
The thought of that brings an ache to my chest. Who or what could hurt a person to that degree? And why would I be so drawn to that?
Probably because I embrace feelings, all of them, and I suspect that he is a well of feelings. Raw and untapped feelings. The kind that could flatten a girl like a category-five hurricane. But also the kind that could make survival the most rewarding thing in all of life.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this guy is just a cold, sneaky womanizer, albeit a fairly honest one. Maybe I’ll regret getting involved with him. Maybe. But there’s a small yet powerful part of me that says maybe I won’t. And would I really want to risk missing out on something amazing, if that’s what it turned out to be?
No, I wouldn’t. Because feelings are what happen when you’re alive. They’re what make life worth living, good or bad. It’s pain that makes pleasure so poignant. It’s tears that make laughter so valuable. It’s hate that makes love so important. And for this man, this gorgeous, strong, enigmatic man, maybe I could be the difference between them all. And maybe, in the meantime, he’ll trust me enough to tell me some of his secrets.
“Where are we going?” I ask when the tires drop off the paved road onto a narrow gravel path that leads through increasingly dense forest.
“Some place safe.”
“How much longer?”
“Not far.”
I sigh. He’s so damn vague sometimes that I wanna stab myself in the eye. At least it’s not as frustrating as it has been. I guess I’m starting to expect it.
He meant it when he said not far. Less than ten minutes later, the road ends in a driveway that pulls up to a smallish A-frame cabin with what looks like a wraparound porch. A stone chimney splits the side facing us, softly illuminated by a tall, fading dusk-to-dawn light that looks like it belongs on a wharf.
“Where are we?” Before Jasper can answer, I preempt him. “And don’t say ‘someplace safe.’”
“Isn’t that the most important thing?”
I glance over at him, his face brightly lit by the interior light that popped on when I opened my door. My heart stutters for a second, as though it might never get used to the handsome perfection of his honey eyes and bronze skin. He’s beautiful. Beautiful and powerful and dangerous.
“Safety?” I ask. Something about his expression, about what happened at Dad’s, about everything that’s happened with him thus far, tells me that he’s asking so much more than the obvious. “Not always.”
“No?” One dark brow shoots up, making him look daringly sexy, like in a James Bond kind of way. The kind of way that says he’ll crush me, but I’ll never be able to fully regret such an amazing ride, no matter how many things get broken. Yes, it makes me a little nervous. Yes, I dread the fallout, but I’m also looking forward to knowing him. At all. In any way, physical or otherwise. Something inside me wants desperately to be close to him, to touch him and soothe him, to be touched by him. Maybe I’m crazy, but if I am, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. “What’s more important than safety?”
“Making a life, making the choices, having the things that are worth keeping safe. Those things are more important. If not for them, what would be worth saving?”
He studies me in that way he has, that way that makes me think he’s mentally stripping me down to nothing, able to hide not even the tiniest secret from his knowing eyes. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
I tilt my head to the side and consider him right back. “That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, Jasper King.”
“Then maybe I can cheer you up. And you can show me the important things.”
Something about this moment, this place, this dark, quiet night, makes me feel like the world is a lifetime away, and that it’s just us up here. Alone. No troubles. No appointments. Nothing but each other and what could be.
If only . . .
“I’d like that very much.”
I can’t hide the smile that curves my lips. It comes from too deep inside me.
—
Enchantment, Georgia. This is what Jasper calls “safe” and I’m inclined to agree with him. It feels remote here, secluded. Intimate. It also feels enchanting, making the name seem apropos. But that might just be me and my attitude.
I’m unpacked in my room. I have no idea how long I’ll be here, so I just took out what things I brought and put them into the cedar drawers of the neat, rustic chest that’s in my room. When I’m done, I know I’m too restless to sleep, so I set off to explore. And maybe find Jasper. It seems that no matter what else is going on, what else I’m thinking of, he’s there. There in the back of my mind, seeping into the front. Drawing me to him . . . always drawing me to him.
My little cubby empties out into the main room, which is a combined living and dining room. One wall is the same stone as the chimney outside and boasts a fireplace so big I could almost stand inside it. There’s already a fire crackling in its belly. I stand for a few seconds staring at it, letting both the literal heat and the charm of a cozy fire warm me.
Although it’s not cold, there’s a nip in the air, probably from the nearby mountains, that could probably turn very quickly into a damp chill. I’ll probably be grateful for the warmth of the flames come morning.
I turn from the orange glow and take in the rest of the room. Comfy olive green furniture is angled to perfectly enjoy the logs or the view that I imagine rests beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows during the day. A chunky wooden table and six matching chairs sit against the opposite wall and, behind that, a doorway that I guess leads to the kitchen.
I walk that way, leaning around the corner to peek in at the stainless appliances and surprising accoutrements of the room. The space is laid out and accessorized like someone who uses it lives here, making me all the more curious as to whether this place belongs to Jasper or a friend. I smile to myself as I try and picture my dark, brooding companion at the stove, wielding a spatula and wearing an apron that says Kiss the Chef. Yeah, not happening.
I make my way to the front door and out onto the porch. I walk to the railing and look over an open expanse of grass that gleams in the bright light of the moon overhead. As though a magical trail sprinkled with fairy dust, it leads down a gentle slope to a dock. The planks are wide and pale, and they seem to disappear into waters that are murky, lying far outside the wide beam of blue-white moonlight. And even more magical, more mesmerizing, is the man standing at the lake’s edge, hands in his pockets, face downturned, staring into oblivion. He’s so gorgeous, yet he seems so troubled sometimes. He’s withdrawn and sullen, but I’m also beginning to see small indications of a heart inside that iron frame, tiny clues that say he might actually care. Why that should make me feel like I’ve won a grand prize is beyond me. Maybe because I get the sense that Jasper isn’t close to anyone. Not really.
I descend the steps and pad quietly across the lush grass until I’m standing beside Jasper. I glance once in his direction, staring long enough to commit his strong profile to memory. His face is bathed in a soft, silvery light that casts a shadow under his deep-set eyes and beneath his cheekbones. He looks like a statue, carved out of moonbeams and mercury. I say nothing for at least five minutes. He seems okay with that, standing still and silent beside me.
“It’s beautiful here,” I observe. He nods once, but says nothing. I stare a little longer, reluctant to take my eyes off the even more stunning beauty beside me.
I notice a hint of sadness on his face, an emotion that I’ve never seen there before. In the starkness of the night, I can almost imagine that if his skin were laid open, revealing the well-hidden soul that lies beneath, I would see scars, crisscrossing Jasper like the lashes of a sword, standing thick and white in remembrance of his pain.
I cup my elbows against the chilly breeze blowing off the water. From the corner of my eye, I see Jasper glance down at me.
“Cold?”
“Just a little.”
“I thought you’d be asleep by now. You’ve had a big day.”
I shrug. “That’s probably why I can’t sleep.”
His sigh is so light it nearly blends in with the wind. “How about a drink, then? I could use a drink.”
“That sounds good.” He sounds so . . . deflated, I feel the need to lift his spirits, to give him back the smile that he’s so stingy with. To calm him, to ease his pain. It’s stupid, I know, to want to help someone who could suck me into a black hole of emotional torment, but I’ve never been one to refuse a challenge. Jasper turns back toward the house. “And maybe some cards. Do you have any cards?”
“Cards?” he asks dubiously. “Seriously.”
I tip my head. “Well it’s not like we can talk or anything. We need some way to pass the time.”
Jasper gives me a sidelong glance that’s as hot as the fire burning inside that cabin. Even in the night, I can see it, bright as day. “I can think of several ways to pass the time that have nothing to do with talking. Or cards.”
I feel breathless and giddy, but also a little bit nervous. He’s so matter-of-fact about it that I feel a blush coming on.
“Let’s start with cards,” is all I say.
“Okay, then we’ll start with cards. We’ve got all night.”
And all day tomorrow. And the next day. And maybe even the next.
Suddenly, I actually look forward to my confinement. If no one will give me answers just yet, it will do me good to work off some of my frustration. And I get the feeling that there would be no better person to work it off with than Jasper.
He reaches for my hand, his long warm fingers wrapping around mine. It seems that my hand was designed to fit inside his, like my skin feels more alive against his than it’s ever been before. I can only imagine what it will feel like when more of our skin touches. All of our skin.
Heat floods me and I shiver again.
“I thought you said you weren’t cold,” he says.
I glance up to meet his darkly glistening eyes. “I’m not.”
He stops, turning to face me. The yellowish light from inside spills out across the porch and over one half of Jasper’s face leaving him half in shadow. He’s always half in shadow, difficult to see. Even more difficult to get to know.
His expression is intense, as always, but right now it’s even more so. He looks determined. Fiercely so. And hungry. Very, very hungry.
With his tiger eyes on mine, he sweeps his thumb over my palm. There’s just enough pressure, just enough of a rasp of his lightly calloused thumb to tear a small, breathy gasp from me. The sensation flows through me like a languid ribbon of lava. It oozes from my belly down into my core, heating me up and making my insides clench.
“We’re going to go slow, beautiful Muse. Would you like to know why?”
I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? I’m outside in the cool, crisp air.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to enjoy every sound, every breath, every squeeze that you make for me. I don’t want to miss even one. Then,” he says, bringing my fingers to his mouth, “I’m going to devour you. Like an animal.” As if to punctuate his words, he sinks his teeth into the tip of my index finger in one sharp pinch. The sensation lands between my legs like a delicious stab.
“I thought you didn’t bite,” I say, nothing else able to surface in my overcome mind.
“No, I said you’d have to ask nicely.”
“But I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did. You just didn’t use words.”
I feel the hot flick of his tongue before he releases my finger and pulls me up the steps behind him. I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
I’ve never wanted to be slain until now.
TWENTY
Jasper
Inside, I walk to the old cabinet that sits in the corner of the living room. It’s hip-high and has three doors along the front. It’s the only furniture I kept from the house that I grew up in. My mother loved the cabinet because she said my brother and I used to like to play in it when we were little. It was also my father’s favorite since he kept his liquor in it.
For me, the distressed piece of history holds memories that I can’t let myself forget. The happiness that my mother brought me. The pain that my father did. Now it holds a quilt that she made from pieces of T-shirts that Jeremy and I had outgrown, along with what remains of my dad’s alcohol stash.
Like the cabinet, I carry both of them around in me every day. Good and bad. Light and dark. Laughter and pure evil. I can’t escape either. But maybe one even more than the other.
I take out the bottle of vodka that’s been behind the creaky wooden door since I brought the cabinet here. I blow off the thin layer of dust coating the top.
“Wow, you must be a big drinker,” Muse says from behind me.
I’m studying the bottle as I turn toward her. “I can’t remember the last time I had a drink. In my profession, it’s important to be alert.”
“But not tonight?”
I raise my eyes to hers. “Oh no. I want to be alert tonight.”
“Then why are you getting that out?”
“For you. I’m hoping to loosen up your delicate sensibilities.”
“Ummm, I don’t really want to drink alone.”
“I’ll have a couple of drinks. Just enough to relax, but nowhere near enough to dull what comes next.”
I see her cheeks stain with pink. She’s a walking, talking contradiction, this one. Maybe that’s what I like most about her. I can’t always anticipate what she’ll say or how she’s going to act.
I grab two tumblers from behind another door in the cabinet and take them to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. I reach in the drawer of one of the end tables and pull out a deck of cards.
I pour an inch of vodka in each glass before I sit down on the floor and lean up against the couch. Muse kneels in front of the table across from me. The firelight flickers against the smooth cream of her skin and I commend myself on picking this spot. She’ll look incredible lying on the rug, spread out beneath me, wearing nothing except that soft, orange glow.
“What?” she asks, nervously tucking a stray flame of hair behind her ear.
“Nothing. I was just imagining what your skin will look like with only the light from the fire covering it.”
Her pupils dilate and she licks her lips, dropping her gaze from mine and attacking the deck of cards that rests between us.
“I love that you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” she defends.
Liar.
“Good. There’s no reason to be. It’s not like I haven’t already seen you naked.”
Cheeks turn redder, bottom lips gets bitten. “I know,” she replies, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Then you won’t mind making this interesting.” Emerald eyes fly up to mine again.
“What do you mean?”
“Strip poker. What do you say?”
She clears her throat and begins shuffling the deck. “Fine. Strip poker it is. Five-card draw. Jokers are wild.”
As she deals the cards, I notice the tremble of her fingers. Before I pick up my hand, I pick up my tumbler and hold it out toward her. “To animals and delicate sensibilities.”
“To poker and vodka.”
“To teeth prints and claw marks.”
At her third blush, I toss back my drink and pick up my cards.
TWENTY-ONE
<
br /> Muse
I sputter at the burn of vodka searing its way down my throat. Within seconds, a pleasantly warm sensation erupts in my stomach. It’s no match for the heat coming from Jasper’s eyes, though. I doubt even the open flames that flicker in the fireplace just a few feet away could match the scorching intensity of his gaze.
I examine my cards, trying hard to concentrate on what I’m doing rather than the man sitting across from me. It’s incredibly difficult, though. I’m hyper aware of every glance in my direction, every movement, every sound. It all works together to tease my taut nerves, like fingers plucking the strings of a harp.
“So what’s going in the pot, kitten?”
“Kitten?” I ask.
“Yes, kitten.”
“Why kitten?”
“Because sometimes you’re a kitten. Like now.”
“And other times?”
The flames are perfectly reflected in the golden sparkle of Jasper’s eyes when he looks at me. They’re every bit as intoxicating as the vodka I just drank.
“Other times you’re a wild cat.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I’ve tasted it. And I’m dying to taste it again.”
My pulse is thrumming in my neck like the tick of an anxious finger, tapping against my skin.
“I guess I bet my shirt,” I say, disconcerted by this side of Jasper. He’s as unrelenting as the one I’ve spent the last few days with, only in a totally different way. A delicious way that makes my blood sing with anticipation. Anticipation and a little bit of fear. Not the kind that says he might hurt me. The kind that says he might hurt me in the best sort of way. The sort of way that will make my knees weak for the rest of my life.
“Brave little kitten, then,” he remarks. “I figured you’d go with shoes or socks first.”
I could kick myself. Why the hell didn’t I think of that? “Wait! I—”
“Ah-ah-ah. No changes. I’m in with my shirt, too.”